


more ghosts than people

by ShipperTrash140109



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Coping, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Loss, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Spoilers, arthur is a sad boah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperTrash140109/pseuds/ShipperTrash140109
Summary: Arthur had managed to finally divide his life into two categories.These were ‘with Sean’ and ‘without Sean’akamore sad with hints of happy???





	more ghosts than people

**Author's Note:**

> pls give me praise i am but a lowly cur

Arthur had managed to finally divide his life into two categories.

These were ‘with Sean’ and ‘without Sean’ sort of like a during and after. Not that he had to think much, there was a clear divide between what life had been like before and after the Rhodes shootout. Before had been nice, as nice as it could get out here.

After was just a bleak mess of drinking too much and sitting talking to a stone all day every day.

They’d buried him close to Clemen’s point, close to where his blood had soaked the choking red dust of Rhodes. Arthur always rode around it, if a single hoof entered the town his head would spin and his stomach would turn. It was a sullied town- a ruined town.

Nobody asked questions when he left, bottles of whiskey in hand and a sullen look on his face. Shady Belle was miserable, almost as miserable as he was.

If you asked where he went, answers would vary. Those that knew the pain, knew the bitter bite of loss would tell you it was none of your business. Those that knew better would say he’s going to see an ‘old friend’ some sounded more disbelieving of the title than others. And those that didn’t know better, and likely never would, would say he’s ‘off gallivanting in the wilderness and contributing to no one but himself.’

“You behavin?” Arthur asked on one such day, after half a day’s ride he all but collapsed, the grass worn and shaped where he’d sat every day since Rhodes. He smiled fondly, even though it stung, “no, ‘course you aren’t, they probably wanna give you back by now” he chewed the inside of his bottom lip “if they do, I’d really damn appreciate it.”

The wooden cross sat silently, the words- the name staring at him, the way it was tilted towards where he sat almost made it look like it was listening, was paying attention and passing on whatever happened to spill out of his mouth.

“I brought you a drink- your favourite- at least I think it is, you drank so much it was sometimes hard to tell what you favoured, eh Sean?” he hummed, placing one of the bottles against the pile of rocks, hands fussing with the placement of some orange flowers he’d found during his trip a few days prior. “We never did get a drink together, did we? I was always busy, always away… wasting my damn time” he hated this- being able to recount all the times he could’ve done more- could’ve paid more attention to this needy little redhead.

“You’re always loud up until when it counts… you could hassle me all day about being old or angry… but you could never ask, ask me to stay, to be better, to let you know how much you mean to me, as soft as it sounds,” he tipped back his own bottle of whiskey, it burned all the way down, he wondered how Sean drank so much of the stuff, he always was a strong one.

“Sometimes I worry I’ll forget you- your voice and face and all that, I mean, I drew you plenty, everything about you- all of you, but it’s not the same, Sean, you should come back and remind me, talk until my ears bleed, make me hate to love you again” it sounded bad, he wasn’t like Trelawny or Dutch, he couldn’t say articulate stuff like that, he couldn’t convey emotion like they could. He may as well have been speaking another language.

“I miss the small things now, all the stuff that does but doesn’t matter. You’re damn smile, how you’d wake me up at the crack of damn dawn because you were stiff as a rock for one reason or another. How I could count the dots on the back of your shoulders until you woke up and got the hell off me,” he’d made a list of everything he’d thought of, and he’d gone into depth about each one, drawn it, wrote about it as best he could, clawing at anything and everything to try and keep Sean in his mind.

“Sadie’s been mighty nice to me, guess she knows what it’s like- same goes for Dutch, kind of, he’s trying mighty hard to both care and get me to keep working for whatever batshit insane ‘plan’ he has...” Arthur trailed off, and a soft chuckle rose in his throat, eyes growing glazed as he thought back. “You used to say some mighty amusing things about him late at night, when you’re all tired and trying to fit on my bed, giggling yourself to tears about how foolish he could be” Arthur recalled the sound and he felt his lips curl and his eyes prickle, he would give anything to hear it again, to be able to see the look on Sean’s face when he amused himself beyond sanity.

He looks at the cross, eyes grazing over the writing, he would add to it, scratch all the things he hadn’t been able to say into wood, or into each individual rock, maybe wherever Sean was he would know- he would see. He washes the thickness in his throat down with a swig of whiskey, and it’s almost as abrasive as Sean himself.

“Never thought I could miss being annoyed… but you always did make me do strange things” he hummed, before he was broken out of thought by the heavy fall of hooves. He couldn’t help the smile that settled on his face as he caught a glimpse of a bright orange coat through the trees.

Ennis had been found frantically scampering around Rhodes, inspecting everyone he passed, searching, constantly searching. He’d almost kicked a few folk who didn’t know any better. Bill was the one who found him when he… when he went back for the body (had to pry it from the hands of the church), found Ennis corralled on the edge of town, sign warning of a crazed stallion. Bill wasn’t sure if he recognised Bill, or Brown Jack, or the limp body on the back of his horse, but for a moment he calmed, and the towns folk were glad enough to get him off their hands.

He followed Bill to the hill, watched as Sean was lowered into the ground, when Arthur first visited the site Ennis was there, laying in the grass so still Arthur thought he was dead. He’d never take another master, never settle for anyone else, so Arthur left him, he ran a hand along his flank, sat with him for the afternoon, he wasn’t sure which of them missed him more.

Since that first time Ennis had somewhat recovered, Arthur envied the animal. As the brunet continued to return to the site, he watched as Ennis hauled himself to his feet, watched as he approached a nearby herd grazing, wild beings that hazed him, left him missing sections of fur from bites, putting him in his place. Lord knew pet was like owner, Ennis was as unruly as Sean had been, it was comforting- to see that spark of rebellion that had been so familiar.

Eventually he fell in with them, Arthur saw him grazing and rolling in the grass, and it gave him hope- both Arthur and Ennis were simple beasts with a loss in similar, maybe there was hope after all.

“Hey boy, survived another day with the wild folk?” Arthur asked as the stallion sniffed his own horse in greeting. He looked rugged, free life suited him, his coat was unkempt but with his firecracker personality it matched. “You had it easy didn’t you?” He hummed, standing to greet the horse, slipping a peppermint from his satchel, the buckskin shoved at his shoulder with his nose before happily taking the treat.

They’d worked up a bit of a routine, every time Arthur came around Ennis would make his way over, he’d accept whatever stable bought treat was offered and lay himself down next to Arthur, listen to Arthur talk to thin air, watch him sketch whatever was on his mind (whatever little bits of Sean he could remember that day usually), or just enjoy the silence, hidden away from the world with the man they both missed.

Eventually Ennis would leave, his new family either calling for him or other matters becoming more pressing than lazing around with the past. Arthur would wave him off with his bottle and get lost back in his little world where one day the cross might talk back to him.

He’d leave once the sun starts to drop, painting everything in a shade of orange that made his chest ache. He’d hold his fingers to his lips, kissing the pads before pressing them to the centre of the cross, he’d tip his hat, and get on his horse. “You behave yourself now, don’t let no no-good angel boss you ‘round… till next time Sean.”

He’d start the long ride home, and when he trots into camp, none would ask, and he’d go to bed looking forward to returning the next day.


End file.
